Page 65 of Much Ado about a Widow

Lord, Georgie must keep her mind on her business. She resumed industriously brushing her hair. “I think those will do nicely. I won’t want anything so formal onboard. My pelisse will suffice for warmth, or I can remain belowdecks.”

“Your pelisse is simply not what it used to be, my lady, if I must say so.” Clara sniffed. “I’ve tried and tried to get the wrinkles out of it, but it’s never been right ever since you got it wet. And the fur has become matted in places in the lining. If we were closer to a dressmaker, I’d say you needed to bespeak a new one.”

“Well, that point is moot. We are not near a dressmaker, and we are technically still under siege, although Rob assured me at dinner that the few men remaining out there won’t cause any trouble. Not to mention I will be at sea in a matter of hours.” Georgie rose, wrapping her arms around her chest and going to peer out at the moonlit night. A little light bounced off the distant waves. Not long now until she was out there on the water once more. She shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cold.

“Very well, my lady. Did you need anything more tonight?”

“No, Clara, thank you. But I will need to be ready at first light, even though the marquess says we will breakfast first.” She wrinkled her nose. “He will breakfast first and heartily, I hope, as there likely won’t be much in the way of hot food on this voyage. Barnes has been spirited away by his wife and daughter to look after her toddler while she is attending to the birth of her next child.”

“Hard to imagine Mr. Barnes looking after a babe.” Shaking her head, Clara headed toward the dressing room.

“I suppose if it is your flesh and blood it becomes a different matter.” Georgie had never taken care of children before, but if she and Rob were to have one . . . Her heart raced at the thought. Well, she’d likely act differently as well. God bless Mr. Barnes. Hopefully the man had laid in a goodly supply of hardtack for her before he left for more domestic duties.

“Likely it does, my lady.” Clara opened the door to the dressing room as furious barking erupted.

“Lulu! Did you get shut up in there?” Georgie gathered the frenzied little dog to her, lifting her up and almost being licked to death in the process. “We have to be more careful, Clara.” She rubbed Lulu under her chin. “Poor thing. You wanted your good-night rubbing, didn’t you?” Kneeling down on the floor, Georgie set the spaniel down, then proceeded with her bedtime ritual of rubbing and chin scratching. “There you go, my dear.”

Lulu snorted, then sauntered back into the dressing room.

“And who do you think will do that while we’re away in Scotland, my lady?” Clara had picked up a pair of half boots and was polishing them industriously.

“We?” Rising, Georgie cocked her head one way, then the other. Clara had never declared her intention of accompanying them. “Did I say I was taking you? One chaperone on this trip will be one too many.”

“Two is too few where you are concerned, my lady. You and his lordship need chaperoning.” Clara gave the boot a vigorous swipe with the cloth. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

Chuckling, Georgie returned to her toilette table and picked up the brush. “I should hope he would look at me with a bit of fondness, Clara. We are getting married in a day or two.”

“More than ‘a bit of fondness,’ to be sure, my lady.”

That was nothing but true. The smoldering looks she’d caught him sending her whenever they were in the same room were almost indecent. Even married couples were expected to restrain their passion in public. The Marquess of St. Just, however, did not seem to care for that ton edict.

“Both you and my brother seem to forget that I am a widow, not some naïve, young virgin.” Brushing her auburn hair as it curled around her hand, Georgie vividly recalled her wedding night with Isaac. An awkward, painful, and blessedly brief union. Of course, she had grown to love their passionate encounters, but that first one . . . “Thank goodness I am well past that stage of life.”

“All the more reason you should be watched over, Lady Georgina.” Clara set the shoes in the dressing room and shut the door, leaving a crack. “If you think you have nothing left to lose, no reason to guard the treasure chest.”

Smothering a giggle, Georgie fought to maintain a somber countenance. “I promise to take that into consideration, Clara. Truly I will.” As much consideration as she would give a gnat. “So you don’t need to accompany us.”

“Huh. I wasn’t born down a well, my lady. I’m coming with you, and that’s that. Do you require anything else this evening?”

“Only that you take a nice long rest tonight. Sleep in in the morning, Clara. You deserve it.”

Giving her a withering look, Clara marched out the door, poking her head back in for an instant. “I’ll awaken you at six o’ clock. Lord St. Just said we were to depart for the ship at eight.”

Resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at the maid, Georgie resumed her brushing, sobering the instant the door closed. Despite her carefree façade, this whole business preyed upon her mind. She feared the worst from her father. Sending his servants to bring her back home, while it had not had dire consequences, still was an indication of his iron will to have her married as he directed once and for all. She could imagine to what lengths he would go, having been thwarted once, to assure himself it did not happen a second time. He was the most stubborn, inflexible, tenacious man she had ever met.

Of course, she was just like him in that respect. If she refused to marry Travers, there was nothing her father, Lord Travers, or the King of England could do about it. Well, the king could command her to do it, but it was very unlikely, given his circumstances. And the Prince Regent would likely take her side in the matter, as he’d detested his own marriage because he’d been forced to marry a lady he didn’t love. If it came down to it, she would simply tear up the document she had signed in front of Travers and tell him to go hang.

A quiet knock brought Georgie out of her chair and sprinting to the door. “Yes? Who is it?” she whispered and leaned her ear against the panel.

Nothing. She pressed harder.

Louder knocking ensued, but not from the door to the corridor. She jerked back and looked at the door in the corner, near the fireplace. The door that had always been locked. Step by cautious step she crept to the doorway, then laid her hand on the latch and paused. Best be safe. She grabbed a poker from the fireplace and lifted the latch.

She raised the rod, her face screwed into the fiercest frown she could conjure, and the door swung wide, revealing a grinning Rob in a gray silk banyan that matched the color of his wide eyes, two glasses of wine in his hands.

“Rob! What are you doing here?” An inane question, given his dishabille and the lateness of the hour, but she was so flustered she couldn’t think straight. She’d hoped he would come, but hadn’t dared hope too much with her brother literally down the hall.

“I was going for a stroll and thought you might like to accompany me. The parapet is particularly lovely by moonlight.” He handed her one of the glasses, bubbles rising steadily through the golden liquid. “Have some wine. It will help you relax.”